


And Miles To Go Before I Sleep

by Katie_P



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Gen, Poker, Shared Universe, Suspended Animation, abstract discussion of human experimentation, brief mention of medical experimentation on animals, brief mention of psychological horror, brief mention of unethical medical experimentation on humans, gambling - zero stakes, historically and medically plausible (unfortunately), medical ethics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 00:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10525005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katie_P/pseuds/Katie_P
Summary: Mark Watney is a scientist.  That doesn't mean he won't entertain ideas from science fiction, especially when those ideas have some basis in fact.  When an evening conversation turns to the topic of suspended animation, he happily speculates, much to the entertainment of all but one of his crewmates.  Dr. Beck is not amused, and he really needs to work on his poker face.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow _The Martian_ ended up in my Earth Zero (MCU AU) universe. I blame the casting of the movie.  
>  You may want to read [Operation Epic Beer Run](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10027490) first, since it hints at a bit of Beck's family history that's relevant here.  
> I know nothing about poker beyond what I read online specifically for this fic, so if I got anything wrong with the game play please let me know and I'll try to fix it.  
> The fictional (but not that fictional) historical parts of this story are kind of dark. Proceed with caution and mind the tags.  
> Edit: The hyperlinks in the notes are now working! Thanks to AO3 tech support for their assistance!  
> 

The Ares III crew was on Day 23 of their 124-day trip to Mars. The crew sat around the small dining table, each holding five playing cards. It was a weekly ritual they'd started during training, after the final selection for the mission had been announced. Poker night was all about team bonding, the cards serving as a buffer against the occasional awkwardness of forced social interaction in their first months as a team. They played for bragging rights, most of which went to Lewis and Watney.

Lewis had the best poker face. After two months of getting taken to the cleaners the rest of the crew secretly agreed that they'd share any tell they spotted. So far no one had been able to spot one.

Beck had the worst poker face. He tried, he really did, but the rest of the crew could read him like an open book. 

Martinez claimed to have some “strategy” for the game. Whatever it was, it didn't work.

Johanssen was the most analytical of them, calculating the probabilities in her head for each hand and playing accordingly. When they asked what she knew about blackjack, she just smiled mysteriously. 

Vogel had never played before, but caught on quickly. He was just behind Lewis on bragging rights and rapidly closing in on unseating her for the number two spot behind Watney. 

Watney was the best poker player of the bunch. He'd competed in tournaments in his college years and enjoyed the friendly competition. Poker night had been his idea.

The crew kept up their friendly chatter as they played. Watney dealt this round and was watching his teammates as they studied their cards. 

“I never thought space travel could be boring,” Martinez said, tossing a chip into the pot.

“Are you kidding?!” Johanssen exclaimed, tapping her cards on the table before throwing one of her chips into the pot. “We're flying in a spaceship to Mars! That's the opposite of boring!”

“I will admit that it is monotonous,” Vogel said, adding two chips to the pot.

“It's not that much different from a sub, really,” Lewis added. “Just like the rest of the military. Long stretches of waiting interspersed with brief periods of excitement.” She glanced around before pushing two chips into the pot.

Johanssen quickly followed up with another chip.

Martinez and Beck nodded in agreement. Martinez hesitated before added another chip to the pot. Beck made a face then folded.

Each player still in the game discarded one or more cards.

“I dunno,” Watney said as he dealt the second round. “I'm with Johanssen on this one. Just being here is exciting.”

“Thank you!” Johanssen said, picking up her new cards. 

“Let's face it: this is the longest road trip ever in a dinky Space Winnebago,” Martinez said, tossing another two chips into the pot.

Johanssen quickly followed him with two more chips.

“Y'know, I always wondered why they don't put us into suspended animation for the trip, like they do in the movies,” Watney said. “I mean, the Hermes can take care of itself. We've got experiments to do to keep us busy, but they aren't anything that couldn't be done on the ISS or the SpaceX Station.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow as she added two more chips to the pot.

Vogel snorted and shook his head. He added two of his chips to the pot and sat back, watching his crewmates.

“Dude, that's science fiction,” Martinez said as they all showed their cards. “Suspended animation is about as real as lightsabers.” 

Johanssen smiled and pulled her winnings towards her, neatly stacking them in front of her.

“No, man. It's been done once _by accident_ ,” Watney countered as he collected the cards and passed the deck to Lewis. “Captain America spent seventy years on ice. They defrosted him and he bounced right back.”

Beck shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Lewis shuffled the cards as each of the other crew members anted a chip into the pot.

“Captain America had that super-serum, though,” Martinez replied. “A normal person stuck in the ice like that would just freeze to death.”

Lewis dealt the first round.

“Doesn't mean they can't figure it out,” Watney shrugged as he picked up his cards. “We know it's possible, at least.”

Martinez and Vogel each tossed a chip into the pot.

“Just because they can, doesn't mean they should,” Beck said under his breath before adding his own chip to the pot.

“What was that?” Watney asked, tapping two of his chips on the table.

Beck jerked his head up, startled. “Nothing.” He forced a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Watney eyed Beck as he plunked his two chips into the pot.

Johanssen raised an eyebrow and slid two chips over.

“Yeah, how would it work, though?” Martinez continued, adding another chip to the pot. “It's not like you can just pop a guy into a freezer and defrost him later. He'd get freezer burn.”

Beck pursed his lips and added another chip to the pot. Vogel followed suit.

“I dunno, maybe add some sort of antifreeze?” Watney answered, laying down the cards he planned to discard. “There are some fish in Antarctica that have antifreeze in their blood.”

The others laid aside their discarded cards as well. Lewis dealt their replacement cards.

“There's still the problem of cooling the body uniformly,” Vogel said, rearranging his cards. “You can't flash freeze a whole person. The thermal mass is too large.”

Martinez folded.

“Would the body have to be frozen solid?” Watney asked, fiddling with three chips. “Animals that hibernate, they don't freeze solid.”

Johanssen glanced around then stacked four chips neatly and pushed them into the pot.

“That is true,” Vogel replied, putting four of his chips in the pot. “Metabolic function decreases with temperature. If your aim is to slow it down, rather than stop it completely, the body does not have to be completely frozen.”

Watney set down his three chips and stacked two more on top, then moved the stack over to the pot.

“I don't know if I'd like that,” Johanssen said, narrowing her eyes at Watney. “Either being frozen like a popsicle or being refrigerated. It doesn't sound too comfortable.”

Beck sunk further into his seat, then pushed his own stack of five chips into the pot. 

“Well, you'd probably be knocked out, first, so you wouldn't feel it,” Watney replied.

Vogel looked back and forth between Beck and Watney before shrugging and adding another chip to the pot. 

“There's also the issue of waking up at your destination,” Lewis said. “It's not as if you can just set an alarm clock to wake you up when you get to Mars.”

“And wouldn't you need doctors taking care of you?” Johanssen added, casually tossing in another chip. “Even if everything went perfectly, you'd probably be at least a little groggy or disoriented at first.”

They laid out their cards. Beck smirked.

“Isn't that what robots are for?” Martinez asked. “They've already got 'em in Japan.”

Beck pulled the pot towards himself and began stacking the chips.

Lewis collected the cards and handed the deck over to Johanssen.

Watney turned to Beck, “As the resident physician, what's your professional opinion, _Doctor_ Beck?”

Johanssen cut and shuffled the deck several times while the others put in their antes.

“About suspended animation?” Beck asked, eyebrows raised. 

Johanssen dealt the cards.

“Yeah,” Watney replied, taking a glance at his hand. “Y'think it's possible?”

Beck felt himself caught like a deer in headlights. He wanted to say _no, absolutely not,_ but he knew it was a lie, and he knew that he was a terrible liar. Beck sighed. A simple confirmation would not be enough. His crewmates were scientists. They'd be curious; they'd want to know his reasoning. His only way out was a carefully edited version of the truth. He didn't even bother looking at his cards before he folded. He didn't notice the puzzled looks from his teammates.

“Yeah, it's possible. It's actually been done before.” Beck tried for a casual tone, though he wasn't sure if he succeeded. 

“Seriously?” Watney and Martinez said in unison.

Lewis looked around the table before placing two chips in the pot.

“The Russians, they, uh, figured it out a long time ago,” Beck continued. “Makes sense, actually, that they'd be the first. They'd been dragging people in from the worst winters imaginable and reviving them for generations. It was only a matter of time before they figured out how to do it on purpose.” 

Vogel tipped his head, then added two chips to the pot as well.

“Why doesn't everyone know about it, then?” Lewis asked.

 _Because it was a classified military project._ “It never worked right,” Beck answered.

“How did it work?” Watney asked, throwing in two chips as well and elbowing Martinez.

Martinez threw in his own two chips.

“Um,” Beck grimaced. “I really shouldn't be talking about this.”

Cards were discarded and new ones were collected.

“Oh, come on, Beck. It's not like I'm actually going to try it. Just curious,” Watney cajoled him. He tapped a chip on the table. 

“Fine,” Beck gritted out. “It's a kind of induced hibernation. The subject is put into a medical coma, then the body is cooled to hypothermic conditions but not frozen. Everything slows down. There are actually similar procedures used in emergency medicine, but those are relatively short-term, used for hours or days at most. The procedure the Russians worked out could keep a body pretty much frozen in time almost indefinitely, as long as they kept up a steady supply of oxygen, drugs, and intravenous nutrition.”

“But you said it didn't work right,” Lewis said as she added three chips to the pot.

Watney followed with his own three chips.

Beck nodded. “The body's not the problem; it's the mind. All of the test subjects came out either psychologically broken or severely brain-damaged.” 

“Why?” Vogel asked. He eyed Watney for a moment before sliding four chips into the pot.

“They didn't know why,” Beck answered. “Some of them, they think, weren't getting enough oxygen to the brain. For others, as best they could figure, they were never able to maintain an uninterrupted state of unconsciousness. The subjects would wake up periodically, but their bodies were still paralyzed. It would be like waking up during surgery, over, and over, and over again.”

Lewis added another chip to the pot.

“Shit. How did they get away with that?” Martinez said.

Watney elbowed Martinez again. Martinez glanced down at his cards, then folded.

“This was back in the 1930's and 40's,” Beck explained. “If someone wanted to work on it now, they'd never get approval from any IRB. Not if they planned to do it the way they did it back then, at least.”

“I sure hope not!” Watney exclaimed, tossing another chip into the pot. “That sounds horrible!”

Beck opened his mouth to speak again, then stopped. Horrible didn't even begin to describe the experiments the Soviets had performed in their work on suspended animation. He didn't know much about the earliest work, but he knew enough. The animal experiments were disturbing. The things they'd done to _people_ were the stuff of nightmares. The later work wasn't much better, and he knew that work in agonizingly intimate detail. He would _not_ think about that now. This was something his crewmates didn't need to know – _couldn't_ ever know.

“Aren't researchers still working on this, though?” Johanssen asked. “You said that they use it for emergencies, right?”

“The stuff they're doing with emergency medicine is different,” Beck answered. “If you're a candidate for EPR, it means you're almost guaranteed to die without it.” 

“EPR?” Johanssen inquired.

“Emergency preservation and resuscitation,” Beck supplied. “It's got a good track record, but it's not perfect. Nothing in medicine is, of course; too many variables. People still die. Some of the ones that live wind up with permanent brain damage. Twenty years ago, almost all of them wouldn't have made it off the operating table, and most of the lucky few who did would never wake up. EPR improves outcomes, but it's a far cry from true suspended animation.” 

“Has anyone tried?” Watney asked, leaning forwards, the card game forgotten.

“Tried what?” Beck asked.

“Tried to adapt it for people who aren't dying,” Watney clarified. 

“Hell no!” Beck exclaimed. “They're not using EPR on healthy people! Not yet, at least, as far as I know. That would be _insane_.”

“But can't the same principles be used to achieve a state of suspended animation?” Vogel asked. “You said yourself that the two procedures are very similar.”

Beck shook his head. “It's not that simple. Even with advances in monitoring technology, patients still wake up during surgery and while in regular medical comas. Most of the time they're fine afterwards, but some of them are deeply traumatized by the experience. Could you imagine that happening on a trip to Mars? It's too risky.” Beck rubbed at his eye. “There isn't some perfect universal formula for putting someone under anesthesia or into a coma, either,” he continued. “There are guidelines, of course, but each patient is unique. Each one needs a custom mix and close, active monitoring. It's not a process we have the tools to fully automate, yet. That's probably part of why the Soviet process had problems. They'd just set it and forget it.”

“But what about Captain America?” Watney asked. “He wasn't monitored, and he came out of it just fine.”

Beck looked down at his hands. “Captain America didn't come out of the ice like he was waking up from a sixty-five-year nap. They hid it from the public, but he was in pretty bad shape for a while.” 

“How bad of shape?” Watney asked.

Beck shuddered at the memory, and tried to keep it off his face. “I, I don't know,” he replied. It was a partial truth. He'd been ten years old, almost eleven, when Captain America was found. His family had been allowed a few short visits in the months and years that followed. He remembered the visits. He remembered seeing Steve Rogers, thin and frail in a hospital bed, surrounded by machines keeping him alive. He remembered Steve becoming agitated when he saw him, demanding to know where he was, _when_ he was, accusing them of trying to trick him. They hadn't been allowed back for over a year after that incident. His parents and grandparents had tried to explain, but he was too young, then, to fully understand. Just like how they'd tried to explain what had happened to Uncle – _no,_ he was _not_ going to think about him. _Not now._

Clinically, Beck knew exactly what had happened to Steve Rogers, both before he became Captain America and after he went into the ice. The so-called super-serum was a myth; nothing more than wartime propaganda. However, it was so entrenched in the Captain America narrative that the more mundane and in some ways more extraordinary truth simply wasn't believed. Project Rebirth was never intended to develop a one-shot wonder transformation. It had taken three and a half years of careful nutrition, physical therapy, and lots and lots of drugs to produce results. Of the one hundred men who started the trial, only twenty-six were left when the program was shut down. Of those twenty-six, only Steve Rogers had made any substantial improvements. There was no super-serum to protect him after he ditched the Valkyrie in the Arctic; it was sheer dumb luck. The wreckage of the plane and the snow that piled on top of it had sheltered him, creating a small chamber of uniform temperature that stayed above freezing, much like an igloo. Inside this protected space he slipped into hypothermic torpor. There he remained for sixty-five years, his body slowly consuming itself to sustain his cold-slowed metabolism. 

“Beck?” Watney called. “Hermes to Beck?”

“Huh?” Beck blinked and looked around at his crewmates. 

“You zoned out there for a minute,” Lewis said. “You okay?”

“What? Yeah,” Beck plastered on what he hoped was a convincing smile. He couldn't take any more of this conversation. “Just a little tired. Think I'm going to turn in early.” He stood and headed for the ladder exit from the module. “Good night,” he called as he climbed out of the room. 

A chorus of “Night!”s followed him out.

Beck's hands shook as he went through his nighttime washing up routine. He glanced up into the mirror, then immediately looked away. He kept his eyes down until he left the wash station. He was grateful for the privacy leaving the poker game early had bought him. The crew was typically climbing over each other in the mornings and evenings, all trying to get ready for the day or for bed at once. Normally he didn't mind, but right now he didn't want them seeing how shaken he was. He couldn't risk them asking questions he couldn't answer. 

The crew's bunk rooms were the only real privacy they had on the Hermes. They was a luxury, compared to the sleeping arrangements on the ISS and SpaceX Station. The psychologists at NASA had deemed private rooms necessary, and therefore worth the space and resources required, to maintain crew cohesion on the long trips to and from Mars. 

Beck slid his door shut and sat down on his bunk, propping a pillow in the small of his back as he leaned against the wall. He took a few deep breaths, trying to quell his rising discomfort. He knew the conversation had been idle chatter and pure speculation. They didn't know what they were talking about, not the way he did. He scrubbed at his face with his hands. He knew he couldn't let it affect him. It was irrelevant, now, and there was too much at stake. Space travel was dangerous. He needed to be at his best, or at any rate at a close approximation thereof. Barring that, he should at least ensure the rest of the crew could sleep undisturbed.

Beck pulled a piece of paper out of his folder of personal items. He sat there in the dim light staring at it. Fatigue dragged his eyelids down. He forced them back open. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> IRB stands for [Institutional Review Board](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Institutional_review_board). IRBs serve as oversight committees that review, monitor, and approve biomedical and behavior research involving humans.  
> The Japanese medical robots Martinez references are inspired by [Robear](http://www.theverge.com/2015/4/28/8507049/robear-robot-bear-japan-elderly).  
> People often do wake up briefly while in [medically](https://www.yahoo.com/beauty/what-its-like-to-be-in-a-coma-193252912.html) [induced](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Induced_coma) [comas](https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/what-is-a-medically-induced-coma/). The brain will try to string together any inputs it is getting to make sense of the experience, so the patient may perceive things that are not real during the coma. Most medically induced comas last only a few days or weeks, although they can extend up to several months.  
> People also sometimes [wake up briefly](http://www.cnn.com/2014/11/28/health/wake-up-during-surgery/) [during surgery](http://www.reviewjournal.com/life/health/what-do-if-you-wake-during-surgery), though most do not feel any pain or other physical sensation during an incidence of intraoperative awareness. Nonetheless, such experiences can be deeply traumatizing, leading to PTSD and other psychological issues.  
> Now extend those experiences to years or decades, either continuously or intermittent. That's what happened to both Steve and Bucky. The tvtropes.com articles [“And I Must Scream”](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AndIMustScream) and [“Go Mad from the Isolation”](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GoMadFromTheIsolation) do a good job of capturing how horrifying and psychologically damaging that would be.  
> There is one famous Soviet animal experiment from 1940 formally called [“Experiments in the Revival of Organisms”](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Experiments_in_the_Revival_of_Organisms) but colloquially known as the Soviet Zombie Dog Experiment. The film documenting these experiments showed the resuscitation of clinically dead dogs as well as artificially sustaining individual organs.  
> Research into [suspended animation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suspended_animation) is real, and one of the target applications is [long-haul](https://www.washingtonpost.com/national/health-science/hibernation-for-humans-may-not-be-a-pipe-dream-forever/2015/04/13/9f60d47c-c440-11e4-9ec2-b418f57a4a99_story.html?utm_term=.0921262f53a7) [space travel](http://www.popsci.com/article/science/suspended-animation-space-travel-what-scientists-still-need-learn). I'm assuming that by 2035 some advances will have been made, though not enough for it to be in use for space travel yet. Right now, the time limit for [emergency preservation and resuscitation (EPR)](http://www.popsci.com/article/science/how-it-works-putting-humans-suspended-animation) in humans is [about two hours](http://www.iflscience.com/health-and-medicine/suspended-animation-human-trials-about-begin/), with some other forms of therapeutic hypothermia being tested in medical trials for as long as two weeks.  
> See also:  
> [Targeted Temperature Management](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Targeted_temperature_management)  
> [Deep Hypothermic Circulatory Arrest](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deep_hypothermic_circulatory_arrest)  
> [Torpor](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Torpor)  
> [Hypothermia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypothermia)


End file.
